


I Dreamed I Held You in My Arms

by dr_girlfriend



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Fraction/Aja Comic!Clint, M/M, Pining, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, deaf!clint barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24576514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_girlfriend/pseuds/dr_girlfriend
Summary: He’s just about managed to focus on the mission, mentally reviewing the details of the target, when Clint strolls out of the bathroom, long and lean and —“You’re wearingthat?”James finds himself saying.Clint stops short as he loops the purple aid around his ear and presses the earmold in, sky-blue eyes wide and startled.  “Yeah? Why — is there something wrong with it?”James can’t help himself, his eyes wandering the slow course from head to toe.  The dress shirt is mustard-yellow, linen so fine that it’s practically transparent.  The collar is unbuttoned almost midway, showing the sharp jut of Clint’s collarbone and a slice of freckled chest below. The residual steam from the shower is already making the fabric cling to Clint’s incredible musculature.  It’s fuckingobscene.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 40
Kudos: 345
Collections: Winterhawk Remix 2020





	I Dreamed I Held You in My Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FadedSepia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Like Sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945480) by [FadedSepia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/pseuds/FadedSepia). 



Christ, but he hates the humidity. Newport News in September is stifling, the wet air billowing heavily in through the car window as James rolls it down to give his order. Two large black coffees for Clint, and the most ridiculous iced-coffee-and-whipped-cream concoction he can find on the menu for himself, partly because he loves that shit and partly because he knows it will make Clint smile. And when Clint smiles…

Goddammit. He can’t think that way. They are partners on this mission and are going to be in each other’s pockets all weekend. It’s going to get awkward real quick if he can’t get a handle on his attraction to Clint.

The walk from the car to the hotel door is only a few paces, but it’s enough to have the henley sticking to James’ spine. Ugh. He gingerly balances the cardboard coffee carrier in one hand and swipes the sleeve of his other arm across his forehead before knocking on the door to the room.

No answer.

He knocks louder.

Nothing.

If Clint is still sleeping and James has to roust him out of bed…

The image of Clint, the way he was when James left this morning, all sleep-warm and rumpled in the hotel bed flashes through his mind. When Clint sees the coffee he’ll probably smile that sunshine smile of his. Maybe he’ll even grab James’ hand, pull him into his bed with him, and…

Fucking _hell_.

James leans against the wall, taking a few slow deep breaths before fishing out the key card and opening the door.

“Clint?” 

Clint’s bed is empty and the shower is running. James carefully sets the coffee down, grateful for the reprieve. 

He’s just going to sit here on his bed and drink his Caramel Waffle Cone Crème Frappuccino Blended Crème and definitely _not_ think about Clint in the shower, just on the other side of that door, water pouring over those amazing shoulders and down the long graceful curve of his spine, those mouth-watering biceps wet and glistening…

James sucks his coffee so hard he has a moment of brain freeze.

He almost has control of himself by the time Clint wanders out of the bathroom, one small towel tucked around his waist as he runs another over his damp, rumpled hair, making it stick up in all directions.

“Oh. Hey!” Clint says, in that somewhat atonal voice that indicates he doesn’t have his aids in. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.”

James looks at the television, at the other rumpled bed, at the maroon carpet — anywhere except at the glory that is Clint Barton, shirtless, biceps bulging and abs flexing as he finishes toweling off.

[coffee] [here] James finally signs, just to do something. He darts his eyes up toward Clint’s face to make sure he saw, and —

 _Fuck_.

There it is, that sunshine smile, and James feels it like a taser to the chest.

Fortunately, Clint doesn’t seem to notice, only having heart-eyes for the coffee. 

[you] [amazing] he signs, and then he’s reaching past James to snag one of the cups of coffee, smelling warm and soft like clean soap and shampoo. He pulls his garment bag from where it’s hooked over the closet door and heads back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

James lets out a long, slow breath and puts his head in his hands. It’s gonna be a long weekend.

___________

He’s just about managed to focus on the mission, mentally reviewing the details of the target, when Clint strolls out of the bathroom, long and lean and —

“You’re wearing _that?_ ” James finds himself saying.

Clint stops short as he loops the purple aid around his ear and presses the earmold in, sky-blue eyes wide and startled. “Yeah? Why — is there something wrong with it?”

James can’t help himself, his eyes wandering the slow course from head to toe. The dress shirt is mustard-yellow, linen so fine that it’s practically transparent. The collar is unbuttoned almost midway, showing the sharp jut of Clint’s collarbone and a slice of freckled chest below. Clint is wearing some cheesy gold necklaces that are probably supposed to make him look the part of the tourist, but just accentuate the golden tan of his skin. The shirt sleeves are rolled up, exposing the strength of his forearms, ropey tendons and dextrous, long-fingered hands. The shirt is tucked into light grey slacks at Clint’s lean waist and topped off with a brown belt, making his shoulders look all that much broader and his legs look endless. The residual steam from the shower is already making the fabric cling to Clint’s incredible musculature. It’s fucking _obscene_.

“It’s just —” Christ, his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth, and he doesn’t even know what he is trying to say. _‘It’s so fucking gorgeous I can’t even stand it’_ is _not_ appropriate. “It’s a _lot_ of color,” he eventually manages.

Clint frowns a little. “Nat picked it out.”

Oh. Yeah. _Nat._ James still hasn’t quite figured out if Nat and Clint are a thing or not, but either way the mention of her name stings a little bit. He gets up and leans on the wall by the window, flicking the curtain aside to glance out at the hallway, aiming for casual.

“Just...it’s a bit much, doncha think?”

“I have a blazer I can wear. Nat said this guy might go somewhere that we’d need to be dressed nice to follow.”

There’s a light flush coloring Clint’s cheeks. Something about the yellow shirt makes his hair seem even more golden than usual. He looks like a fucking angel and sweet temptation all rolled into one.

“It’s just —” Fuck, why the _hell_ is he still talking? “It’s not exactly subtle, is it? I look at you, and it’s like sunshine. _Literal_ sunshine.” 

And, shit. That was a little too close to the truth, and James feels his own face flush. When he looks back, though, there’s a muscle ticcing in Clint’s jaw and an angry furrow across his brow.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put the blazer on now and protect your delicate eyes,” he snaps, and then turns away before James can figure out _what_ to say.

* * *

The sun is setting low on the horizon, lighting up Clint’s skin in pinks and golds. The target of their surveillance had gone into his swank condo an hour ago, and was probably in for the night. 

James knows that Clint is just waiting for him to call it, but he lets the time spin out a little, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he hums under his breath. It’s actually nice here by the water with the windows rolled down, the ocean breeze smelling of saltwater and wisteria as it ruffles Clint’s golden hair. The blazer has been long-abandoned in the back seat, the fine linen shirt now clinging to Clint’s sun-warm skin. 

James takes the reprieve. Not that it’s easy, sitting in the driver’s seat next to Clint, but it’ll be even harder back in the hotel room. The shared intimacy of the two narrow beds, tucked in close to one another. Clint will probably strip out of that damned shirt, peeling the fabric off slowly. If James suggests ordering pizza, Clint will probably smile that smile of his again, the one that makes James feel as though fireworks are being set off in his chest…

“Just fuckin’ _enough_ already,” Clint snaps out.

“What?” James turns to him, confused.

Clint is looking stormy again, jaw clenched and brow furrowed.

“I _get_ it, you hate the fuckin’ shirt. You’ll never see it again, I promise.”

“What? I don’t —”

“Even _I_ know that one,” Clint snaps. Then he sings, his voice low and gravelly but strangely compelling. _“You are my sunshine / my only sunshine / you make me happy / when skies are grey —”_

“Oh.” James feels himself flush, cheeks hot with humiliation. “I didn’t — I mean, I wasn’t —”

He didn’t even realize that's what he has been humming, low and tuneless.

“I didn’t know I was doing that. Sorry.” Clint just looks away, and James can tell it’s not enough. “My —” He pulls in a deep breath. “I think my ma used to sing that to me.” It’s one of those barely-there ghosts of a memory: soft fingers in his hair and his mother’s voice.

“Oh.” Clint’s expression softens. His eyes are on James' face now, earnest and so very blue. “I — mine too. When I had nightmares, she’d sing it to me.”

Silence settles over the car. James could leave it alone, he knows. Clint isn’t one to hold a grudge, but…

“I don’t hate the shirt,” James grinds out. “I like it. A lot. _Too_ much.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel, and it creaks ominously under his metal fingers.

“Huh?” 

James wants to kiss that look of adorable befuddlement off of Clint’s face.

“You — you look amazing in it. And it’s hard — not doing anything about it, when you look so fucking _delicious_.” It comes out angry, and he can see Clint rear back for a moment before the words sink in.

“You — you _like_ it?” And there’s that smile, spreading soft and slow across Clint’s face. “You like _me?_ ”

James swallows thickly. “I’m sorry if —”

And then Clint is clambering across the gear shift, and James suddenly finds himself with a lapful of everything he’s been coveting all day, long limbs and strong arms and — Jesus _fuck_.

Clint’s hands are in James’ hair, his lips soft against his ear. “Thank fucking _Christ_. I’ve been trying to resist you all day. The way that red henley just —” He interrupts his words with a sharp nip to James’ earlobe, making his head spin. Clint actually _wants_ this — 

And then even that fragment of a thought flies from his head because they’re kissing, slow and sweet and thorough.

They break apart, breathless, but Clint is still muttering, words tumbling from his lips as if he can’t help himself. “I never thought — and I’ve been tryin’ not to — I can’t _believe_ you feel the same —”

James has to stop the words with another kiss, this one hard and swift and just a little bit dirty.

“Get back on your side, sunshine, and get your seatbelt on,” he manages, smacking Clint on the hip. “If I don’t get you back to the hotel in the next five minutes I’m gonna go crazy.”

Clint tumbles back into the passenger seat in record time, clicking his seatbelt into place just as James lurches the car into drive.

James chances a glance over and there it is — that smile of Clint’s, warm and genuine and so goddamn _brilliant_ it’s like looking directly at the sun.

He’s gonna keep that look on Clint’s face as much as he can, for as long as he can. And he thinks Clint might feel the same way, his hand coming to rest over James’ on the gear shift, fingers squeezing tight. 


End file.
